


In the minds of later generations

by Petra



Series: The only immortality [2]
Category: DCU - Comicsverse
Genre: M/M, Mentor/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-20
Updated: 2005-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:38:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick drops his suitcase on the floor next to Bruce's bed at six in the morning and says, "I let her shoot Blockbuster."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the minds of later generations

**Author's Note:**

> Goes AU after Nightwing #93; no spoilers. Thanks to [](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/profile)[**maelithil**](http://maelithil.livejournal.com/) and [](http://buggery.livejournal.com/profile)[**buggery**](http://buggery.livejournal.com/) for encouragement and audiencing. Anyone with suggestions on how to stop writing about these guys is welcome to comment.

  
Dick drops his suitcase on the floor next to Bruce's bed at six in the morning and says, "I let Tarantula shoot Blockbuster."

Bruce is only half asleep for a moment, and then there's nothing to say but, "Come here?"

"But --" Dick runs a hand through his hair, making it even more disheveled than it was. "I let her --"

"I heard you." Bruce turns on the light. "Come here."

"But --" He only hesitates a moment longer.

His weight on the edge of the bed is not a boy's weight, not a child's frame, and not a child's guilt. "What did you fail to do?" Bruce says, and -- he has never been able to stop himself from pushing Dick's hair away from his face, in this place, though now Dick's eyes are haunted. Exhausted.

"I didn't tell her to stop." Dick unfastens his jacket. "I didn't kick the gun aside. I could have. I should have."

"What else?"

"What? That -- that's all."

Bruce squeezes his shoulder. "Was there any other point where you should have done something that you didn't?"

Dick stares at him. "How long have you got?"

"Anything that mattered."

"Not -- no."

Bruce stops himself from kissing Dick's cheek -- not yet. No. "What will you do tomorrow?"

Dick hunches his shoulders and stares at the floor. "Everything I can. Anything I can. What needs to be done -- Bruce -- are you angry?"

"No." The true answer is more complex, but this is its simplest form.

"Why not?"

It is just as well that Bruce has had years to break the habit of touching Dick whenever possible; he wants to shake him. "I believe you."

"Bruce --" Dick crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't -- I don't deserve this."

"Then earn it."

"It's too late."

It's too much. Bruce tousles his hair, and Dick looks at him, accusing, familiar. "You're not dead yet."

"I shouldn't have come."

"Where else would you go?"

Dick shrugs raggedly; a singularly ungraceful movement. "I don't know. Away."

"You may stay here." Carefully not a command, carefully not a request.

"And what?" Dick glares at him. "You want me to crawl into your bed and wait for the nightmare to go away? It's not a dream, dammit."

"You have your own room."

Dick shakes his head. "If you want me to go away, tell me to go away. You can always fire me again."

Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. "What happened had nothing to do with --"

"It had everything to do with you. You know it was wrong, you know I should've done anything I could to stop her even if it meant taking the damn bullet." Dick stands up. "What the hell, Bruce? Why are you so ready to forgive me for this when you wouldn't forgive me then?"

"Garzonas," Bruce says, and Dick's eyes narrow. "Everyone makes mista --"

"I can't --" Dick pushes his hands through his hair again. "Garzonas? So now I'm just as bad as he was?"

It's hard to say, but some things need to be said. "Just as real."

"Fuck that, Bruce. I'm not fifteen. I shouldn't make that kind of mistake."

Bruce gets out of bed; it doesn't matter, here, that he's nude and that Dick is still dressed as if he's leaving any moment. "Do you want me to send you away?"

Dick clenches his hands into fists. "You should have done it that first night if you were going to."

"I know," Bruce says. "I knew it then."

"It was child abuse, dammit," Dick says, and he throws himself at Bruce. His jacket is scratchy, his pants rough, and his mouth is hot and hard. He digs his nails into Bruce's shoulders and breaks the kiss. "Why did you do it?"

"If I could have stopped --"

Dick trips him and they fall together onto the bed, heavy and painful and right. "I wish I hated you."

Bruce touches his hair, now that he may. "It would be safer."

"Why did you?" Dick kisses him roughly.

"A mistake," Bruce says, and Dick tangles his fingers in Bruce's hair. "I fell in love."

"I thought you were perfect, dammit." Dick bites his ear, bites his lip, grinds against him roughly, pants and uniform and all.

"I forgive you," Bruce says, and Dick laughs -- it has to hurt, to laugh like that.

"So now I'm Jason."

"You'll never be Jason," Bruce says. He catches Dick's mouth for a moment, kisses him, and Dick pulls away.

"I made his mistakes."

"You made your own."

Dick shakes his head. "I'd rather be Jason. You loved him --"

Bruce rolls them over and pins Dick's wrists down. "I didn't know him."

"You touched him," Dick says, pulling one hand free. "Don't lie to me."

"I couldn't see him," Bruce says, and -- the ghosts are ever present, but perhaps the truth will set them free. "I loved you."

"Then why --"

"To protect you."

Dick growls and pushes him away. "I hated you for that."

"I know." Bruce lets himself be pushed. Gives him a little space, for the moment. "It was a bad decision."

Dick stares at him, then begins to laugh. "No shit, Sherlock." He reaches out and tousles Bruce's hair. "So you really forgive me?"

The death of a man -- a psychopath bent on murder, a crime kingpin, a man who had been on the verge of death for years --

"Yes."

"Huh." Dick looks at him, and maybe, really sees him. "Okay."

"Hm?"

Dick takes off his jacket. "Can I sleep over?"

Bruce touches his cheek. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not fifteen, Bruce."

"No." Bruce kisses him. There are elements that are blessedly familiar, and tricks he must have learned from -- how many people has he kissed, in the years between?

"A couple of things," Dick says when they stop for breath.

"Yes?"

"I'm not your sidekick."

Bruce shakes his head. "You never were."

Dick nods decisively. "Right. And you're not my boss."

"No, I'm not."

Dick's shoulders relax slightly. "And when I ask you questions, I want honest answers."

Bruce looks at him, and -- he's still Dick. Perhaps moreso than he's been for years. "I will do my best to give them."

Dick grins, and his heart skips a beat -- not entirely from the joy of that bright smile. "Are you still in love with me?"

Of course that's the first question, and one he's been wishing he could answer differently. "Yes."

Dick, to his credit, does not do a victory dance. "Do you want me to stay?"

Bruce kisses him. "For as long as you want."

"What if you get sick of me?"

Bruce looks at him and tries to imagine the possibility. "No."

"No?" Dick plays with Bruce's hair. "What do you mean, no?"

"You'll always be my family."

Dick freezes for a moment. "Right. That's kind of -- weird, now, isn't it?"

Bruce thinks about Jason and how blithely he accepted the multiplicities of their relationship. "It won't go away."

Dick takes a deep breath. "Right. Oh -- and -- if it takes you six months to have sex with me, I'm going to cut your balls off."

Bruce unbuttons Dick's pants. "Noted."

"Noted? Is that all?" Dick splutters and pushes his hand away. "Promise me."

"Actions speak louder than words, Dick."

"You are such a jerk," Dick says, and kisses him again.


End file.
